Between the Candle and the Star
by Soledad
Summary: Jeffrey Sinclair, now the leader of the Rangers, gets visited by an old acquaintance, who has an unusual request. Oneshot.


**Between the Candle and the Star**

**by Soledad**

**Fandom:** Babylon 5

**Genre:** General

**Rating:** G, suitable for all

**Series:** none

**Characters:** Jeffrey Sinclair, Shaal Mayan, Marcus Cole – the rest would be telling. *g*

**Disclaimer:** Babylon 5 belongs to JMS. I don't own anything but the story idea.

**Summary:** Sinclair gets a visit by an old acquaintance, who has an unusual request.

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><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>This story takes place during Season 2 of Babylon 5, after Delenn has lost her place in the Grey Council to Neroon.

Words in Minbari are from Jumpnow's online dictionary – and hopefully used correctly.

Not beta read; all mistakes exclusively belong to me, *g*

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><p><strong>Between the Candle and the Star<strong>

**Minbar, 2259 - Earth reckonin**

In his Spartan quarters within the Ranger training compound in Tuzanor, Entil'Zha Sinclair was sitting in his study, looking out of the window at the City of Sorrows, as it lay nestled in a high valley between two ranges of snow-capped mountains. It was what counted as spring on Minbar, but due to the encroaching ice age, it wasn't all that different from winter – save for the lack of (much) snow. The little parks of the individual buildings – as well as the larger ones, in which the temples were settled – had barely begun to awake from their long hibernation, but at least the fountains in those parks were no longer frozen solid.

Still, the city was beautiful and dream-like with its tall spires, carved into the crystalline outcroppings of the mountains, glittering in rainbow-coloured hues as they reflected the cold, pale sunlight. Tuzanor was said to have been Valen's favourite place on the entire planet, and Sinclair could well understand why.

Of course, since he'd learned the shocking truth of his own past (or future) identity, _that_ no longer was a surprise.

He had grown used to life on Minbar: to the cold, to the food, to the much more ceremonial clothing and the much more ceremonial behaviour. He accepted it as part of his destiny; and he learned to love it. Even if it wasn't always easy. He might be _Id'Minbari_ – a fact that had saved humankind from total annihilation at the end of the Earth-Minbari war – but he'd been raised and had lived the largest part of his life as a human, and old customs were hard to break.

The first year hadn't been easy. While generally accepted and welcomed as Earth's ambassador to Minbar – even by the Warrior Caste, thanks to the influence of the newly chosen _Satai_ Neroon, who might despise humans in general yet had found tentative respect for him in particular during their first and so far only encounter on Babylon 5 – accepting him as _Anla'shok Na_, as the leader of the Rangers, was a different matter.

The _Anla'shok_ had been created by Valen himself, after the horrible clan wars had ended, and their brotherhood had been one of the most sacred institutions on Minbar. For him, personally, joining the Rangers and becoming their leader was coming to full cycle, of course. But the Minbari couldn't know _that_. No-one was supposed to know before the appointed time; not even Delenn. A carelessly dropped word could have unravelled the whole prophecy and changed the past, destroying thus the present – and the future.

So he had to tread the difficult path; to apply to the _Anla'shok_ for acceptance and go through their brutal training like any green recruit, only in a much shorter time. He was a combat pilot, used to fight from the cockpit of his Starfury, not with his bare hands... or with a _denn'bok_.

He had survived – barely. His masters hadn't gone easy on him, and he hadn't asked them to do so, either. He wanted to prove himself on his own merits, and he did. He still had the scars to prove it; would have them to the end of his life.

To the end of _this_ life, certainly. Beyond that, he had no idea and didn't really care.

Becoming _Entil'zha_ had nearly killed him again. The _Sha'neyat_, the potent ceremonial tea used only during religious ceremonies – _including_ the installation of a new _Anla'shok Na_ – while harmless for Minbari, was a deadly poison for humans. He'd been lying in a violent fever for two entire _valsta_, two of the local nine-day weeks, and for half that time it had been uncertain whether he would survive or not.

Apparently, having a Minbari soul didn't mean any biological advantages. Or else he'd have started sporting a bonecrest by now.

That he _had_ survived was generally seen as a sign of his fitness to least the _Anla'shok_. In hindsight, he considered the results worth the risk. Because his new position enabled him to open up the Rangers to human recruits as well, moving things along to the ultimate unification of the two races, as it had been foretold.

Or at least for those who had a Minbari soul...whatever _that_ meant. He might have embraced many of the Minbari philosophies and beliefs – he hardly had any other choice – but part of him remained the practical, down-to-Earth human he'd been born.

He _did_ believe that, given enough time, some humans would discover – and embrace – their inner Minbari and would come to Minbar to join their people of choice. He rather doubted that it would happen the other way round, though, with the dwindling number of Minbari births, and he was quite certain that a complete unification would never take place. For that, the two races were too different – biologically, culturally and ideologically. But at least there would be peace between them, and that alone would be a great achievement.

He could only hope that it would last.

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><p>A soft knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and his aide, Irilenn, came in upon his call.<p>

"Shaal Mayan wishes to see you, _Entil'Zha_," she said, bowing in the fashion of the Religious Caste, her hands forming a triangle, thumbs pressed together.

"Ask her in," he replied in surprise.

He hadn't seen Shaal Mayan since her second – and, thankfully, incident-free – visit to Babylon 5, although she _had_ sent her congratulations, both to his assignment as the Earth ambassador to Minbar andto him becoming _Entil'Zha_. But his respect for her had gone up several notches since he'd become more familiar with Minbari culture. Not many people had ever been declared a cultural treasure on this planet. Minbari were _not_ prone to hype about media stars.

Minbari didn't _have_ media stars to begin with. They didn't even have entertainment media the way other races had. Minbari media served solely the education of the young and the exchange of necessary information. Entertainment, such as they understood it, was limited to live performance. Like Shaal Mayan's readings, for which people came from all over Minbar – or she travelled to the few outer colonies.

That was another thing in which Minbari differed from the other galactic powers: they didn't build empires. They didn't even leave their homeworld, if they could avoid it. Oh, they did go to long journeys to explore space, search for necessary raw materials, to meet other cultures and learn from them – or on patrols to protect their territory. But they didn't have the urge to _live_ anywhere else but on Minbar.

Not in the long run anyway. Not until they grew old and embarked on their last journey to the stars – a journey they would never return from.

Irilenn bowed again and backed off, and in came Shaal Mayan, wearing the casual everyday garb of civilian Religious Caste Minbari: an undertunic of soft, pale blue cotton with baggy trousers of raw silk, soft leather ankle boots and a sleeveless turquoise surcoat of heavy brocade, shot with white and yellow and trimmed with gold, bringing the blousoned sleeves of the undertunic to full effort.

She was as radiantly beautiful as he remembered her, the jewelled colours of her clothes contrasting brightly with the sombre grey and brown of his own Ranger uniform. He noticed, though, that she had he brand mark of the Homeguard removed, after all. Her forehead was smooth and unblemished like china once again.

"I have come to understand that it is unwise to keep a mark that could re-inflame the hatred of our people towards humans," she said, as if she had read his thoughts.

And while she wasn't a telepath in the traditional sense, he wouldn't but it beyond her. She had the extraordinary sensibility of all great artists that almost worked the same way.

"It is good of you to see me at such a short notice, _Entil'Zha_," she continued, briefly laying her palm on his chest in the gesture of friendship, and he appreciated the honour of it. "I am honoured… and grateful."

"The honour is all mine, Shaal Mayan," he replied – and he meant it. Very few people could say that the greatest poet of Minbar would have paid them a personal visit. Besides, she was a childhood friend of Delenn's. "How can I be of service?"

"You can do me a great service indeed," she admitted. "But my request of your help isn't actually of private nature. I know you've met sharp resistance when you choose to open the Anla'shok for humans…"

"That," he replied with a faint smile, "is the understatement of the century."

She nodded. "Yes, I know. Nonetheless, it was the right thing to do. So, I was wondering if you'd be willing to go one step further."

"You have a possible candidate for me?" he asked, getting the idea where this conversation was heading and glad that Shaal Mayan apparently didn't share the general tendency of the Religious Caste to make long, cryptic hints before coming to the actual topic.

He wouldn't even thing of interrupting an older priest or an important Caste member – that would count as inexcusably rude, and he couldn't risk to be anything but infallibly polite. But Shaal Mayan had travelled far, met many different people and, as a result, was as cosmopolitan as any Minbari could ever hope to become… with the possible exception of Delenn.

Of course, Delenn was a category unto herself.

Shaal Mayan nodded. "I do."

"A human one?" he asked. She'd been travelling to Earth too, among her other, more extensive journeys; perhaps she had picked up somebody during that journey.

"It would be best to register him in human disguise," she replied. "But no; may I present him in person? I've brought him with me to save time and effort."

Sinclair nodded. That was eminently practical from her; besides, now his curiosity was piqued. Few races could disguise them as humans – without a changeling net, that is – at least outwardly, and he had suspicion what race the Ranger candidate might be.

"Please, do," he said.

Shaal Mayan left the room briefly and soon returned with someone wearing a heavy brown travelling cloak, Worker Caste-style, the wide hood of which was pulled deeply into their face.

_His_ face. Shaal Mayan had spoken of a _he_.

"You can show yourself freely," she said to her protégée encouragingly. "You are quite safe here. This is perhaps the safest place on the whole of Minbar."

The newcomer bowed wordlessly and tossed back his hood. The face that he revealed seemed human enough indeed, although a little gaunt, emphasized by the short-cropped dark hair and the large, deeply shadowed eyes.

It was a young man's face who'd been through a lot. It also seemed oddly familiar, although Sinclair couldn't really remember where from.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

The young man flashed him a tired smile.

"Not personally, Commander. But you might have seen my forced statement when the Narns attacked our colony," he paused before adding, "Ragesh 3. I never had the chance to thank you for your intervention on our behalf. I'd like to do so now."

A flash of memory from the previous year showed Sinclair a frightened young Centauri with a modest haircrest, reading out loud the statement given into his mouth by the Narn invaders at gunpoint.

"You're Carn Mollari!" he realized in shock, remembering Londo's rage and grief about the fate of his cherished nephew.

"I _was_," the young man corrected bitterly. "Now I am nobody and nothing. A shame for House Mollari; a fugitive with a death sentence for high treason."

"They blamed _you_ for that forced statement?" Sinclair frowned. "But it was the government that refused to send ships to protect your colony!"

The young man nodded. "True; and it was particularly embarrassing for them after they had bombed the Narn homeworld back to the Stone Age. The Centaurum doesn't like to lose face; I was a convenient scapegoat."

Sinclair nodded in understanding. He'd come to know the ways the Centauri government dealt with embarrassment in more depths than he was comfortable with during his time as the commander of Babylon 5.

"Where have you been all this time?" he then asked. "Your uncle was most grieved about your."

"My uncle is used to grief," the young man answered dryly. "And it was safer for him _not_ to know. Although I was actually hiding in plain sight; for a while even on Babylon 5."

"In DownBelow, I assume," Sinclair said.

That was the place where the broken, the stranded, the hopeless ended up. The place where no-one looked too closely at your ID card. Where you can hide out for quite some time, assuming you could protect yourself. And young Centauri nobles were taught to fight with the dagger at a tender age.

The young man nodded. "Yes. I realized that the easiest way to hide would be in human disguise. All I had to do was to shear my haircrest and to avoid being see unclothed. All other biological differences are intern, and there's very little choice that a so-called lurker would be given a thorough medical examination."

"Dr Franklin does his best to help," Sinclair protested, because that was the truth. The chief medical officer of Babylon 5 even ran a free clinic for the unfortunates in DownBelow in his nonexistent free time.

"Which is noble of him but merely a drop in the ocean," the young man answered; and that, unfortunately, was also the truth. "So I assumed a human identity, got me a fake ID-card with the name of Carl Moeller – close enough to my actual name that I wouldn't slip; and yet no-one would suspect a Centauri behind it. I was hiding on the station, working for a vendor in the bazaar, until I accidentally run into Shaal Mayan, upon her return from Earth. My disguise didn't quite worked on her, so I opted to tell her the truth and hope for her discretion."

"We haven't known each other previously," Shaal Mayan added. "But he knew I was a friend of Delenn's, and therefore trusted me enough to ask for my help."

"Which you provided, of course," Sinclair smiled.

Shaal Mayan nodded. "Of course. One should always provide help for those in need. He has been with me ever since. But now we both feel that he has to move on. It is time. He is young. He needs to find his destiny."

"And his destiny would be with the Rangers?" Sinclair asked doubtfully.

"Who else would take him?" Shaal Mayan asked simply. "Who else would fit better? Where there is a need, the universe usually provides a solution. The _Anla'shok_ have no Caste, no Clan, no family. They answer to no-one but the One. They live for the One, they die for the One. And right now, my dear friend, _you_ are the One. The only one who can give him shelter – and a purpose. _Everybody_ needs a purpose; especially those who are lost."

"That is certainly true," Sinclair himself never felt he'd found his true purpose before coming to Minbar. "But are you sure his purpose is _here_?"

"Yes," Shaal Mayan said with a finality that no longer brooked any argument.

Sinclair turned to the young man, trying to measure his level of determination. He was a good judge of character where humans were concerned, and he was starting to learn how to read Minbari. But the Centauri were a different kind of people.

"Is this truly what your hearts desire?" he asked with grave serenity. "The path of the Anla'shok is not an easy one. We stand between the darkness and the night; between the candle and the star. We walk in dark places no others will enter. We stand on the bridge and no-one may pass."

"That is what I desire," he who had once been Carn Mollari, head researcher and project director for the Ragesh 3 agricultural colony, answered steadily.

"If you set foot on this path, there will be no turning back," Sinclair warned. "Are you ready to lay your life in my hands, trusting that I shall use it well? Are you willing to follow me into fire? Are you willing to follow me into darkness? Are you willing to follow me into death, if that is what I must ask from you?"

"I am," the young Centauri replied without hesitation.

Shaal Mayan must have prepared him thoroughly, explained him what to expect, what answers to give… and he was clearly willing to give them.

"Then I welcome you in our brotherhood and offer to you a family to replace that which you have lost, through no fault of your own," Sinclair declared. "Your secrets are now ours to keep, so you no longer have to worry about your safety. Still, as Shaal Mayan suggested, we'll keep up your human disguise – until you've finished your training and earned your _ishil'zha_, your Ranger pin. After that, you'll be one of the _Anla'shok_, and it will no longer matter which planet you've originally come from."

The newly accepted Ranger trainee bowed deeply.

"Thank you, _Entil'Zha_ Sinclair. My uncle always spoke of you with respect; which rarely happens to him. Now I can see why he did so."

"Don't thank me too early," Sinclair warned. "You've chosen a difficult path that will demand everything form you… and beyond. Ranger training is brutal, especially for non-Minbari. Some trainees do not survive. Others are forced to give up because they are not strong enough to make through training, and they often live unfulfilled lives afterwards. Some even have taken their lives in despair, even though we did our best to help them."

"I understand the risks," the young Centauri said solemnly. "I would still like to prove my worthiness. Once I wanted to join the Centauri military, but my uncle refused to let me. He wanted me somewhere _safe_. I've learned that there are no safe places in the universe; so I'd like to be _prepared_ next time. And I'll do my best to make it as safe as possible for others."

"This is a noble agenda," Sinclair said," and we'll give you the chance to pursue it. Now; the new training cycle has already begun some months ago. You've missed a lot and will need a special tutor to be able to catch up, and I think I know just the right person," he sounded a small chime to summon his aide. "Irilenn, get me Marcus Cole."

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><p>Half an hour later "Carl Moeller" left with the enigmatic human Ranger – the only other person on the compound who had been informed about his true identity – and Sinclair and Shaal Mayan were sharing the customary mid-day meal of the Religious Caste. It consisted of <em>tulba<em> pod salad with _yla_ leaf cakes, followed by _glomo_ fruit and the inevitable fragrant tea. Most humans would have found the taste a bit bland and strange, but growing up in a Jesuit boarding school Sinclair had learned not to be choosy at a very young age.

Besides, it was an acquired taste. Given enough time, one got used to it. Still, at the rare times Sech Durhan invited him for evening meal, he relished in the hot and spicy food the Warrior Caste preferred. Even if he paid with an upset stomach every time afterwards.

He and Shaal Mayan chatted amiably over the meal – mostly about Delenn and the possible ramifications of her bold step. Both were worried about her; but both knew they couldn't prevent her from embracing her destiny… not that they wanted to do so. Minbari found it of utmost importance that one followed the calling of one's heart in all things, and Sinclair had already absorbed this belief enough to respect Delenn's choices.

As for Shaal Mayan, she as more concerned about her protégée, regardless of her stout belief that they were doing the right thing.

"I truly hope that he finds his place among the _Anla'shok_," she said. "He desperately needs a chance to redeem himself. He feels deeply ashamed and guilty for letting the Narn use him the way they did."

"They'd have killed him otherwise, and his dead would have had no meaning," Sinclair replied.

He knew the Centauri interpretation of honour an family obligations, and even though he disagreed with some of that – actually, he disagreed with a great deal of that – he could understand Carn Mollari's shame and the need to redeem himself.

"Which is why I brought him to you," Shaal Mayan pointed out. "Here, he can be cleansed in fire and reborn. If he is to be slain in the line of duty, his death _will_ have a meaning. Even if his uncle never learns about it; and would probably never understand."

"Oh, I'd never underestimate Londo," Sinclair smiled. "He likes playing the clown, but there's steel under that silly surface. He's shrewd and manipulative and understands more than one would give him credit for; the only question is how would he use that understanding."

"Exactly," Shaal Mayan agreed. "He is what he needs to be as a Centauri noble to stay alive among the intrigues of the Imperial court. But Carn has the potential to become more; although, I'm sure, his uncle would see it differently," she paused. "Take care of him, will you? I would like to see him lead a meaningful life."

"I'll give him the opportunity, like I give them all of my Rangers," Sinclair said. "What he makes of it is up to him. Only he can give his life meaning again. But it will be a hard transition. Painful, too, most likely."

"It is never easy to be reborn," Shaal Mayan replied seriously. "What about _your_ transition, though?" At his surprised expression she added gently. "You have an air about you that our elders have when they are ready to go to the sea. But how is that possible? You have just begun your journey among us."

Sinclair shook his head. "My journey has begun a long time ago. The first leg of it ended when I left Babylon 5 to come here. But this is not the end of it; Minbar is just a waystation. An important one, granted; the ideal place to resupply mentally before I set off for the final part."

She seemed saddened by these news. "How soon will you leave?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Not right away… but soon enough. I'm not really sure myself. I'm waiting for a sign."

"What sing?"

"I'm not sure about that, either. But I've been told that I would recognize it when the time comes. Next year this time there'll likely be someone else wearing this mantle," he touched the heavy fabric of the cloak that identified him as _Anla'shok Na_. "And I will be gone."

"Where will you be going, though?" Shaal Mayan asked

He hesitated for a moment; then he answered simply, "Home. I'll be going home."

~The End~

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><p>Sorry, folks, the TBC was a typo. This story ends here... a sequel might or might not follow eventually.<p> 


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